Happy Hour
by City Girl Dreamer
Summary: ...or not. Either way, being a bartender has its perks. When your bar isn't being destroyed by self-obsessed cheapskates, you get clued into the latest gossip and woes of your customers. Desmond doesn't know which one is worse. Yaoi. AU. S/D. A/M. E/L. DISCONTINUED.
1. Strawberry Daiquiri

**Because I adore Assassin's Creed. Finished all three games in a month and now I'm obsessed. Not the '_omg-i-kicked-the-xbox-now-i'm-altair/ezio's-wife_' obsessed because:**

** 1) I have a PS3, not an X-Box, & 2) I'm more of a Desmond fangirl than anything else.**

**Plus, if you haven't noticed I am a yaoi fangirl. Not happy with that, then you can bite me. And click the back button. Cause this is a yaoi story. Yes.  
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_**Warning:** Fluff, angst, yaoi, smut...probably, yaoi, unrequited love, yaoi. Let me make it clear one more time...YA-OI!  
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_**Disclaimer:**_ _After extensive searching of each game box, I found no contract declaring I was the owner of Assassin's Creed...yet..._

_**Pairings, both possible and probable: **Altair/Malik, Shaun/Desmond, Ezio/Leonardo, Federico/Vieri, Cesare/Leonardo, Desmond/Lucy, Alex/Desmond, Ezio/Christina, Ezio/Caterina, Ezio...is a man-whore...and more.  
_

**Anyways, onto the show then!**

**ENJOY!  
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Chapter 1 - Strawberry Daiquiri

**Strawberry:**_ a sweet, fleshy red fruit with seeds on the outside; a well known aphrodisiac._

**Daiquiri: **_an iced cocktail of rum, lime or lemon juice, and sugar._

**Strawberry Daiquiri: **_Leonardo da Vinci's favourite beverage. Never actually buys it, because that's Ezio's job. Never actually drinks it either.  
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When you've been a bartender for as long as Desmond Miles has been, you do begin to pick up on certain faces. Especially if those faces only turn up from six 'til seven during happy hour.

Cheap bastards.

Not that he can say that out loud, because a) those cheap bastards still pay him, and b) those cheap bastards most probably have the ability to kill him. With their eyes. Nothing else. Just the eyes alone.

Which is rather quite scary considering all the crap Desmond has been through. Not much can scare the guy, but place him in the same room with the same cheap bastards that come every-single-fucking-night, then yeah, it was his god-given right to feel slightly wary of them. Especially with his theory of them being secret mercenaries who were out to kill him with the same corkscrew he uses to create most of their drinks...if he got their order wrong. Which he never did, 'cause he was kick-ass bartender.

Yes. Desmond was that good. So good, he even knew which customers would come in first. Happy hour started at six, and right on the dot would be the Italian Stallion himself. No, not Sylvester Stallone...although, that would be pretty awesome. No this guy was twice as hot, but not as hardcore.

His name was Ezio and Desmond could pretty much write a book about his life. Yeah, Ezio was a talkative drunk, although he never really got drunk anymore. Only on special occasions, like a birthday, or a holiday, or when his heart had been broken in millions of tiny pieces. Ah yes, Ezio Auditore was a womanizer, so it would be hard to imagine him getting his heart broken.

Even more difficult to see it get broken by an unknowing man.

That's right folks, you heard it here first. Ezio lusted for women, but loved one man. A pretty genius with beautiful blue eyes and a head with more clouds in it than a stormy night. They met at an opening of a new art museum where Ezio's mother had dragged him out to see something you could really call beautiful. Fuck, did Ezio see something beautiful that night.

What followed was a long, strenuous journey to realizing what a bi-sexual was, and voilà. What we have before us now is a man who still lusts for women, but only for one man.

_"No offense to you, amico mio,"_ is what that jumped up, self-righteous bastard said to Desmond. Yeah, 'cause he was really heartbroken over that fact.

As the clock signaled the time to be six o' clock, Desmond readied himself with a cocktail glass. Just as he found one and placed it on the counter, the door burst open and Desmond's eye twitched. _They always fucking slam the door open, like they own the damn place_._ Fuckers_.

I digress, Ezio Auditore da Firenze has just walked into the building. Why Italians felt the need to state where they were from every time they introduced themselves confused Desmond immensely. Seriously, if he were to go around and say: '_hi, I'm Desmond Miles of Nevada_', he would gain quite a number of strange looks. Not for Ezio though, 'cause Ezio was Italian and therefore that made it hot and acceptable. Seriously.

"_Amico mio, _I'll have the usual _per favore_," Ezio said, all suave-like...the sexy bastard. Anyway, if there was another thing that did Desmond's head in, it was the random spouting of Italian the guy would insert into whatever he was saying at the time. Like he had to remind people that he was Italian and therefore shouldn't be forgotten about. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Desmond began work on making a strawberry daiquiri.

He didn't know why he kept doing this. Every single fucking time Ezio came in, he asked for the same thing. Then, he spent the rest of the hour staring at the stupid glass, whilst glancing up every so often at the fucking door. Like he expected someone to come in. Now, because Desmond is a bartender, everyone expected him to know all the up-to-date gossip.

Well, they were right.

But don't you think that is such a stereotypical view of bartenders, really? There's probably some poor old bartender out there who never gets the gossip, yet everyone assumes as such and so he gets shouted at all the time for not knowing the latest news. Poor thing.

I digress. Desmond was not like the poor old bartender out there, in fact he was the very opposite. The people who came into his bar probably told him a little too much for his liking, but he stood there with his sympathetic ear, offering advice when needed—

"C'mon man, will you just suck it up. Grow a pair and go after him. It'll save time, not to mention money!"

—or unneeded. You never know.

Ezio scoffed and threw a glare at the unnerved bartender. Luckily for said unnerved bartender, he knew where the line was and why not to cross it. He was a centimeter away from crossing it. Desmond liked to cross lines. He slid the finished drink towards Ezio and watched as he refused to touch it. The Italian shook his head and glared down at the daiquiri before him. The little drink genuinely shrank a little under the intensity of the glare. Bastard.

"I have no idea what you are talking about. And I already have a pair, would you like to see them?" Ezio asked, his innocent look spoiled by the dark gleam in his eye.

Of course Desmond had no idea. God, really, he was like, the last man on Earth to understand the pain that Ezio was going through. I mean really, how could he even contemplate the very thought of understanding what Ezio was going through.

Oh yeah!_ 'Cause that lousy fucker never shuts up about it_!

"If you want Leo to turn up, why don't you try...oh, I don't know, _inviting him out_ or something? Might work, you never know," Desmond liked pushing people. He didn't like it when they pushed back, but god, it was so much fun seeing how far he could before the line was crossed, trampled on, spat on and then destroyed.

"I tried. He's too busy with his new _stronzo _patron," Ezio spat, really, really wanting to murder the poor little drink before him. Desmond nodded knowingly. The Auditore family had many enemies, many dangerous enemies. The Borgia family for example. It really was a shame that a sweet thing like Leonardo was oblivious to Cesare Borgia's seduction. Desmond only met the guy once, but he assumed Leonardo was a sweet thing. At least, that's what he's been told.

"Ah, of course. And you're too scared to even contemplate the fact that maybe Leo might make time for you. I know the guy is a supposed genius, but he ain't psychic. He can't accept your invite out if you're only asking him telepathically," Desmond mused.

Well. You may pronounce that line well and truly crossed.

"You think I don't know that! I have tried, really I have! But when I do, he's too busy with a painting or an invention or trying to discover an answer to one of his unending questions...or he's too busy being seduced by that Borgia _cane_!" Ezio hissed.

Desmond rolled his eyes. Again. Really, this amount of rolling was not good for his eyesight surely. As he was going to retort to Ezio's poor excuse for an argument, a song broke out between them, destroying the tense atmosphere immediately.

**~I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it huuuuuurts~**

Desmond's eye twitched. "Nice ring tone."_ You self-obsessed, cheap bastard._**  
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"Whatever," Ezio muttered, pulling out his flashy Blackberry -_like that shit was better than Desmond's ancient Nokia- _and his face lit up considerable. "Well _amico mio_, it looks like I'm needed elsewhere, _grazie _for the drink!"

"Oh yeah, which one is it this time? Christina? The red-headed chick? Or the other one, you know, the one that threatened to bite off your dick, first chance she got?" Desmond asked, his tone full of mocking interest.

"How about all three," Ezio retorted, pushing the untouched daiquiri towards Desmond.

"Ah, an intervention then. I always thought a little sex therapy is what you needed most."

"_Fottiti_!"

"Thought that was your job."

Before Ezio could respond -_that he in fact did not require fucking himself, he had three beautiful women to do the job for him_- the door to the bar slammed open, as if the bastard to walk through owned the place. _Fucking bastards! _Oh, and what a bastard this guy was. A smooth, sexy fucker who also happened to be Italian. An Italian sexy fucker who also happened to be an Auditore.

Federico Auditore to be pinpoint exact.

Ezio's older brother who also happened to take happy hour very seriously. Cheap bastard. He was the very definition of charismatic, but truth be told, not everyone appreciated it.

"Ah, so this is where baby brother is hiding!" he declared, tilting his head to the side with a grin. Ezio rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue.

"I'm not hiding," Ezio retorted. Of course he wasn't, he was just seeking refuge from the outside world in hopes that it would never find him. _Pffft! Kids, the lot of them!_

"Well I am, so it would be best if you were to pretend that I was never here," Federico stated, eyes glinting in sexy, naughty way.

"Already have," Ezio stated and Desmond nodded in agreement. What Federico was hiding from didn't really need questioning. As Federico hid behind the bar, Desmond could only resist kicking him out from behind it. Glancing up at the clock, Desmond knew it was only a matter of time. The little brat would probably come storming in soon, as always, kick up a fuss, like always and then be carried off in a police car with the other two.

Like fucking always!

**BANG!**

Oh, what a surprise. The door has been slammed open. Again. Oh and look who it is. Vieri de'Pazzi, the youngest Pazzi member and an enemy of Ezio. Not so much Federico. Well, in Federico's opinion anyway.**  
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"Ah Vieri, so good to see you. Funny seeing you here tonight. I thought places like these fell below your radar," Ezio inquired, making Desmond frown. Yeah Vieri was rich and yeah Desmond wasn't, but he wasn't poor either. I mean, the bar didn't look that bad, did it?

_Suffice to say, it would look a hell of a lot better if it weren't for those fuckers destroying it all the damn time!_

Desmond nodded with his conscience. It was always right after all.

"Where is he? I demand that you tell me, you _figlio di puttana_!" Vieri hissed, reminding Desmond of a stray cat. Hmmm...Vieri as cat. It's not as far-fetched as it sounds. Meow.

"Where is who?" Ah yes, clever Ezio. Let's play the I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-talking-about-cause-I-am-that-innocent card.

"Your brother, where is he?" Vieri hissed again. Meow, meow.

"Petruccio? He is in bed, like always. He's very ill again you know and—" Ezio started, nodded towards Desmond like he knew what Ezio was talking about. Which he did.

"Not that one! Your _merda_ brother Federico! He has crossed the last line stealing my hat! Where the fuck is he?" Vieri interrupted rudely. As you can tell, he was not happy. Still...meow, meow.

Federico couldn't help the short burst of laughter and gracefully stood up from behind the bar. "I never knew you to be so eager to see me, _bello_."

Desmond was pretty sure he wasn't the only one to grimace at that word then. Oh yes, Desmond knew Italian now. Very well actually. Well, his Italian vocab stretched to mostly cuss words, but they were still _Italian _cuss words.

"Give. Me. My. Fucking. Hat. Back. Now!" Vieri stated, his fury dripping from each word. Federico merely laughed and walked around the bar, Vieri's hat being twirled around his fingers expertly.

"Oh, you really do look enticing when angry," Federico responded, his eyes lighting up with mirth. Ezio blanched at the implication and threw a glare at his brother.

"Give him the damn hat back, I can only stand his presence for so long and your flirting isn't helping!"_ Ah, flirting. Is that what it's called_?

Federico shrugged and tossed the hat back. "Baby brother, you really do need to improve your patience. No wonder the women complain of how quick you are in bed!" he said teasingly and was responded back with a middle finger.

Fixing his hat back onto his head, Vieri huffed and brushed himself off. "I would love to stay and chat, _stronzo_, really I would. However, I have far more important things to do," Vieri sneered, looking down his nose at Ezio with contempt. Oh, and completely ignoring the lecherous gaze from Federico, which was starting to disturb him. You should never pay attention to those that disturb you, if you do...well, then you end up getting stalked.

Obviously Vieri didn't get that last part of the memo.

"Oh, is your _sorella _in town again?" Ezio asked, mischief sparkling in his eyes. _Oh, Vieri will not like that._

No Desmond, Vieri did not like that. Eye twitching twice, Vieri tried hard to rein his anger in. Like, really, really hard.

"You _pezzo di merda_! I don't have a sister!" he spat, serving only to amuse the younger Auditore brother more.

"Ah, it must have his mother then Ezio," Federico chipped in, causing Ezio to bark out in laughter and causing Desmond to inch that little bit closer to the emergency phone.

_This won't be pretty. Ah fuck, and I've just refurbished and all!_

Vieri's eye twitched three times at the insult before he stiffly marched over to the elder Auditore sibling and promptly punched the smirk straight off that smooth bastard's handsome face. Obviously Ezio wasn't going to stand for such treatment of his darling _fratello_, and practically flew across the room to tackle the seemingly victorious de'Pazzi. Federico gasped, looking quite shocked at the fact that Vieri had actually punched him, before shrugging it off and joining the fray.

Chairs, tables, cushions, everything went flying into the air accompanied by the occasional '_stronzo_', '_cazzo_' and the classic, '_figlio di puttana_'. Really, this wasn't necessary. Desmond sighed and rubbed his temples wearily. Every single fucking time. Desmond considered telling them to get out, although from past experience, that tactic never really worked out for him well.

As he watched his beloved bar being destroyed by the supposed grown and mature men before him -_snort, whatever_- Desmond casually pressed 911 and patiently waited for the operator. And then ducked as an oncoming chair came flying at his head.

"_Mi scusi _Desmond!" Ezio. Fucking bastards. _Why the hell weren't they barred_? Desmond glanced around the empty bar. _Ah, you can't bar the only few customers you have. Idiot._

**CRASH!**

Oh, and there goes the fucking pool table. Again. Jesus Christ, you really can't take these guys anywhere! Not that Desmond actually went out with these guys...not that he would want to anyway. Fucking hell.

_"9-1-1, do you have an emergency?"_

Desmond grimaced. "Hey Meggie, it's me. Again."

_"Hello Desmond. The police force are on their way. Ambulance too."_

"Thanks Meggie."

_"You really ought to bar them."_

Desmond's eye twitched as another chair came flying towards his head again. He sighed as another Italian apology was thrown out to him.

"You think?"

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**Meh. Like operators actually talk like that on the phone. Let's just assume so, yeah?**

**Okay so this is a little bit of crack, little bit of angst, little bit of everything. Minus humour...well, maybe a bit of humour.**

**Anyways, perty please review if you so wish it!**

**Love City Girl**

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	2. Scotch On The Rocks

**Happy New Year! I spent mine at home, like all great people do. Better than my original plan, which was going into work. Which I did do, until I found out that they had booked it off for me and neglected to tell me. Bitches.**

**ANYWAY! I never imagined that people would like this, never mind actually review it and find it funny! ^_^**

**I only hope I can keep the humour up without trying too hard. ^_^**

**ENJOY!  
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Chapter 2 - Scotch On The Rocks

**Scotch: **_a whiskey made in Scotland._**  
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**On The Rocks: **_the act of pouring a liquor over ice cubes in a glass._**  
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**Scotch On The Rocks: **_the only drink that could make Shaun forget about the bloody, tight-clothes-wearing, cute guy who serves it to him._

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It took half an hour for the police to arrive. It then took ten extra minutes for the ambulance to arrive, twenty minutes for Ezio to accept that his nose was broken and needed to be fixed and another thirty minutes for Vieri to decide which police car to go in. The one with Ezio would most likely lead to the Auditore's nose being broken again, the one with Federico would lead to his virginity being stripped away faster than you can say 'pervert'.

Desmond declared it a successfully good way to start a night.

You really don't want to see what happens on a bad start to the night. Really. You don't.

Glancing at the havoc before him, Desmond made a quick list of the damage. _Pool table snapped in half, eight chairs and four tables reduced to splinters, dart board wedged nice and tight in the wall opposite, two lamps torn down with their bulbs hanging from a thread...and a large puddle of water oozing under the door leading to the men's toilets. _Rubbing his temples, Desmond strode over to the bar that the Italians most generously avoided. Mainly because it held their drink supply and Italians liked their drink.

This, by the way, is not a stereotypical view of Italians. If you wish to complain, direct all negative thoughts towards the three Italian twats who are currently sitting in their cells.

I digress, the bar was a complete shambles and needed a quick fix. Lucky for Desmond, he had the local interior designer on speed dial and vice-versa. You know, just in case. Thankfully, the guy didn't mind being called up in the middle of a very important job and cheerily stated that he would come by tomorrow with a whole new set of designs.

This did not fill Desmond up with relief. The last time the guy had a whole new set of designs, his bar ended up looking like the Playboy Mansion. Without the bunnies. So, not good. Besides, Desmond liked how his bar looked originally. It had a nice classic feel to it, all set in dark tones of red and brown with wooden tables and chairs and a soft red hue of light brightening up the place.

Desmond did not want modern or fluffy or 'cool'. He wanted his bar to stay the way it was dammit!

_Fucking designers. Never listen...just like hair-dressers! God, people these days. They all seem to lack their hearing abilities!_

Putting the phone down and glancing up at the clock, Desmond groaned and placed his head in his arms. It was half six. The guy who came in at half six was a real douche-bag. Top-of-the-class bastard with an attitude to put Desmond's ex to shame -_and that is fucking saying something_-, still money was money and it was hard to get when all your customers were cheap, tight-fisted bastards.

**BANG!**

That poor, poor door. Whatever the fuck that door had done to his customers, he'll never know. Either way, Shaun Hastings has decided to grace Desmond's little bar with his 'delightful' presence. How...delightful. Wrinkling his nose, Desmond tried to remember where he had last placed his headache tablets. He would need them.**  
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Shaun worked at the local University as lecturer on history. He had an awful bad habit of telling his students too many facts to remember and then throwing books at their heads when they couldn't remember them. Desmond was pretty sure that was illegal, but never questioned it. Never question Shaun Hastings, if you do...then the bastard would never shut up about it afterwords. Hence the headache tablets.

Either way, he always came in with his two closest friends. Rebecca Crane, who was a snow-boarding instructor -_why she chooses to live in this shit-hole instead of the Alps is beyond me_- and Lucy Stillman, the most beautiful girl Desmond has laid eyes on. She was tough, pretty and smart. The fact that she owned a motorbike was just a lucky extra! Unfortunately for him, she never came in alone. No...she always came in with the very personification of sarcasm himself. Shaun fucking Hastings.

Today though, he had come in alone. Well, that good night just went straight down the toilet already, and look, it lasted a whole five minutes. _Let me just go write that down in the Records Book._ Shaun was one of his more predictable clients. He _always _ordered scotch on the rocks and _always _sat in the furthest corner away from the bar. Desmond didn't really know why he felt the need to stay as far away from him as possible, but merely accepted it. Why? Because the guy was quite possibly the most normal of his customers.

Yes. It really was _that _bad.

Glancing around the room with a disdainful eye, the posh bastard wrinkled his nose and sneered at Desmond. "Italians?"

Desmond nodded. "Italians."

Scoffing, the English fucker -_I really need to stop insulting my customers_- sat down and motioned for the usual to be made. Rolling his eyes at being treated like damn slave, Desmond set to work, tipping three large ice cubes into a glass and pouring his finest scotch over them. Walking over to the only table that managed to survive the massacre, Desmond patiently waited for Shaun's verdict, because the bastard always had a verdict and—

"You call this scotch? Bloody hell! What on Earth is wrong with you?"

—that verdict wasn't always...positive. _Scratch that last thought, if I want to insult my customers, I bloody well should. Fucker!_

Desmond gave him a deadpanned glare and looked off to the side. "Yes I call it scotch. No there is nothing wrong with me. In fact, that is the finest scotch I have. Deal with it." _You lousy, cheap, no good, British wank-ah!_

"Stop wasting time insulting me and my accent in your mind and concentrate on making a better scotch, alright mate? You call this your finest, what are you trying to do, impress me?" Shaun asked, his tone pissing Desmond right off. Right. Off.

"Don't flatter yourself, _darling_. You're not my type!" Desmond retorted, snatching the drink back and marching straight back to the bar to make a new, better one for his highness.

"And he goes and takes it off me. That's right, you're a proper professional, aren't you?" Shaun mocked, his eyes glinting behind his glasses. _Stupid glasses. Stupider accent. Stupidest, fucking, cheapskate! _"Insulting me again are you?"

Desmond twitched. "If you hate the way I make drinks so much, then why stay, hmm?" he asked, his anger boiling under the surface.

Shaun merely scoffed and pushed back his glasses. "Because funnily enough every other bartender around here has the balls to actually bar their clients. You appear to be lacking them. Are they hiding somewhere along with your brain."

Now, Desmond didn't do confrontation. No, his customers did that enough for him. It was fun to watch, but from personal experience, not all that fun to participate in. Unless you're Italian.

However, there was another line that Desmond knew of, and it was a line that no one should cross if they rather appreciated living. It was a line dedicated to his manliness. Desmond was a man and he had balls. He could prove it and has proven it and no British fucker was going to demean their existence, like someone died and made him _God_.

Hell. No.

So, Desmond did what any average guy would do when their manliness was being questioned. He walked straight up to Shaun and poured the scotch over his head. He then -_rather politely if I do say so myself_- took the bastard's glasses off and slapped him. Slapped him like a motherfucking bitch. Yes people, Desmond was that hardcore. Shaun's eyes widened as red hand-print bloomed beautifully on his cheek.

Instead of retaliating like a real man, Shaun merely blinked a couple of times, before bursting out into peals of laughter.

"Oh yes! Hahahahahaha...that's right...you showed me...hahahahaha...fucking girl...what kind of...hahahaha...self-respecting male smacks another guy like that!" Shaun said, his voice shaking with mirth.

Desmond just twitched and threw the bastard's glasses at him. He then turned and started towards his bar, intending on hiding behind it for the rest of the night. His ego was thoroughly bruised and in need of great comforting. Plus he really needed to get away from that obnoxious laughter he could still here from the dick behind him. Tuning the laughter out, Desmond picked up the bottle of scotch and glared at it, like it was all the scotch's fault.

In all actuality, it most probably was it's fault. Stupid scotch. Stupid Brit. He could still hear him laughing!

_Asshole. You should really bar his fucking ass. _Desmond hummed. His conscience always knew what to say. _Then again, if you did, the chances of Lucy coming back shrivel down to nothing. _Ah yes, so wise was his conscience, it deserved a medal of something for keeping his sanity intact.

_But then again, if you did bar his ass, she may come back...only to kick your ass for slapping her friend. And then barring him. Like a bitch._

Desmond blinked. Damn, his conscience could be a real dick sometimes. _Pfft. I don't need it! I don't need anyone. Especially cheap, selfish, stick-up-their-ass British bastards who sit in a corner for no apparent reason at all._

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Actually, there was a good reason as to why Shaun was sat in the corner, as far away from the bar as possible. Not that anyone would find out of course. Well, except Rebecca, but she was too nosy for her own good. Not Lucy though. Dear god, never Lucy.

I digress, the reason as to why Shaun liked to hide in shadows was due to the fact that Desmond liked to wear tight t-shirts. Tight t-shirts with a v-neck. A v-neck that showed off a sliver of sinfully, gorgeous muscle. Oh, and the jeans. Dark blue ones that hugged his ass like a baby hugs it's teddy-bear._ Bloody hell...he is gorgeous, even if he does hit like a girl.  
_

Not to mention that he was a bit more than just a plain old turn-on.

So yeah. That is why Shaun likes to hide in shadows away from the cute bartender.

'Cause he's cute. A walking arousal-maker. Oh...and straight. Most definitely, inevitably and...unfortunately...straight.

_Oh dear lord! The twat just bent over!_

Yeah. Walking arousal-maker. Shaun glanced down to his lap.

..._fuck_.

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**Ah yes, the cliche: I'm in love with a hot, straight guy that will never love me back 'cause he is straight.**

**Don't we all love them! ^_^**

**Also, the image of Desmond wearing the typical bartender uniform broke my brain. So, I decided to slut him up a bit. Omnomnom!**

**Thank you to: **_rune101_, _Keys2theKingdom_, _grawrgrawrninja_, _rabbitinthehat505_, _Izaiazar_, **and** _Your Rights Are My Rights_** for reviewing!  
**

**So, hope you liked it and can you guess who Desmond's ex was? Hmmm? ^_^**

**Perty please review!**

**Love City Girl**

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	3. Amaretto Iced Coffee

**Ah, I adore the reviews I keep getting! Thank you muchly so! ^_^**

**I'm growing to enjoy this story. Writing humour is very hard. I didn't want to try to hard, but you liked it so...onwards and upwards! ^_^**

**Mwah! Desmond...I love the fact that people love his personality in this. Gah! I adore him so much!  
**

**Also... I should've warned people about the OOC...ah well.**

**ENJOY!  
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Chapter 3 - Amaretto Iced Coffee

**Amaretto: **_an Italian sweet almond-flavoured liqueur._

**Iced: **_something that had been covered over or chilled with ice._**  
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**Coffee:**_ a brewed drink prepared from roasted seeds._

**Amaretto Iced Coffee: **_Antonio's daily shot of inspiration. Always brings his own ingredients so Desmond can't get out of making it for him._

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"Now really, you ought to bar those Italians. Such messy bastards."

"...Antonio. _You're _Italian."

"No sense of style either. Did you see what Lucrezia Borgia was wearing the other day? Even Rosa would have found it horrendous and _she's _Rosa!"

"Antonio."

"Anyway, here's what I was thinking, because I am one of the rare Italians who have a sense of style -_I swear I'm related to Stefano Gabbana, no lie_- I feel that maybe your bar needs a massive make-over!"

Remember before, when Desmond explicitly stated that he liked his bar the way it was originally. Do you? Because Antonio clearly doesn't. The interior designer fully insisted upon him having some sort of hearing defect from when he was a child and that no one knew how it occurred, they just accepted the fact that his hearing was impaired.

Desmond liked to think his hearing defect was from being dropped as child. Repeatedly. He also liked to think that his hearing defect was just another way of saying 'selective hearing'.

"Antonio, I don't want a make-over. I want it to be back the way it was," Desmond said, very patient-like. Well, that gained Antonio's attention. The designer spun around on his heels and gave Desmond an incredulous look.

"How boring! Are you sure? Seriously, your bar's look was killing me. Killing me!" Antonio gasped, clutching at his heart with bravado. Desmond just rolled his eyes. _Pity you aren't actually dead then, hmm?_

"Antonio. Pretty please just return my bar to the way it was before. If you don't then I could very well ask La Volpe," Desmond muttered, crossing his arms and glancing off to the side.

The interior designer's eyes widened to the size of two very big circles. Two, very teary looking circles. Antonio sniffed and wrinkled his nose. "Y-You're...you're dumping me...for...that _stronzo_!" he spat, teary circles forever gone. His eyes now, reminded Desmond as why you should never look at rabid dog straight in the eye. Doing so would leave you with nightmares for weeks.

So instead, he stared at Antonio's nose. It was a very pointy nose. Sort of flicked up at the tip. Like an elf. _Hehehehe...looks like an elf._

"Desmond? What are you doing?" came Antonio's very perplexed voice.

"Looking at an elf," Desmond responded, very calmly and very stupidly. Antonio's large teary circles came back, and Desmond felt his eye twitch. "Did I say that out loud? Oh, I am so sorry—"

"Well you look like a dead sparrow!"

...

..._why the fuck do I bother? Fucking prissy, dramatic, little bastard!_

Flicking lint off his shoulder, Antonio's eyes resumed their natural size as he regarded Desmond's bar with renewed interest. "Now, as soon as I got your call, I ended my very important job immediately and set to work on collecting together my best designs. You'll love them...naturally."

Naturally, Desmond hated them. Naturally.

Reaching into his _D&G_ bag, Antonio pulled out his black design book and opened it with a beaming look across his face. Why, the guy was positively glowing with pride. Desmond's eye twitched as he very hesitantly flicked through the book of Antonio's latest work.

"Ah! Here is one, _very _vogue, I'm sure the ladies would love to see—"

"Woah! Two things wrong with that. One, most of my customers are guys. Two, no woman in their right mind would want to see _that_!"

"Oh...well, how about this one then?"

"Antonio. I own a _bar_, not a _ranch_ in the middle of the _wild west_."

"Good lord you are boring, aren't you?" _You bitch. Fuck off and die!_

"Antonio, I want my bar to stay the same. The same as it was before those Italian shits decided to obliterate it, okay?"

"But that look is so—"

Desmond glared at him. Antonio sighed and rolled his eyes.

"Fine. Be that way. Just so you know, my creative muse is now dying due to your boring aura. Thank you so very much for that!"

Desmond beamed cheerily. "No problem!"

X-x-X-x-X

Desmond dry swallowed a headache tablet. It went down slowly and made him gag a little, but it was worth the pleasure of feeling nice and relaxed when faced with something that, ordinarily, would want to make him commit.

"Now! In order to make this bar perfect, I need my inspiration! _Fai presto _Desmond!" Antonio demanded, perching atop one of the few stools that survived the destruction. He pulled out his sketchpad, pencil in hand and eyes flicking about the bar like a paranoid man on meth.

As Antonio set to work, sketching out the plans, Desmond started to make his stupid drink. Which was stupid. Plus, very, very annoying. His customers always ordered the same things. Never any originality. Bastards. Desmond Miles did not spend one whole month of his life learning how to mix every single fucking drink under the sun, only to be left making the same ten or so drinks every night.

It was boring, okay. Boring.

Live a little! Shake it up a bit, try something different for the love of God!

Sliding the Amaretto down to Antonio, careful to avoid the sketch, Desmond wrinkled his nose and casually crept up behind Antonio. He had to make sure that the guy was actually listening to what he wanted and wasn't trying to turn his beloved bar into some kind of strip joint. Minus the strippers. Which wouldn't be fun at all. As he was _this _close to finding out what the fuck-job was going to do with his bar, he found himself meeting a palm covering his face.

"Never! May I repeat, _never _look at an artist's unfinished work! Please?" Antonio declared, like someone had died, sacked Shaun and then made _him _God instead. _Fucking bitch. If he fucks up my bar one more time, I'm going to kill him. And then burn his clothes. And then resurrect him, just to see the look on his face when he finds out that I've_—

"Desmond? Are you talking to yourself again? That's the first sign of madness you know?" Antonio stated, unnecessarily and unhelpfully. So Desmond did what any pissed off bartender did when their face was covered by the hand of one seriously annoying jackass.

He bit him. You know, 'cause that was totally more manly than the bitch-slap he served Shaun yesterday.

Antonio yelped and retracted his hand, cradling it to his chest with a wounded look upon his face. _Worse acting ever. And he deserved it._

Resisting the urge to stick out his tongue, bite him again, or something equally as childish, Desmond settled for the good, ol' fashioned jibe at Antonio's expense. "If you ask Ugo nicely, perhaps he could kiss it better for you."

Ah yes, Ugo No-Last-Name. Antonio's little apprentice that he never shut up about.

"Pffft! Like Ugo is ever around long enough to even be asked! That old _pezzo di merda _takes up all his time nowadays. Always asking him out and wasting his time!" Antonio spat, not at all bitter over that fact. Nope.

Desmond rolled his eyes and, knowing what was going to come next, dry swallowed another pill. _Eurghh..._

"La Volpe again?" Desmond asked innocently, as if the question even needed to be asked.

Judging by Antonio's expression...it didn't.

"That _cazzo_! Says I never pay attention to my worker's needs enough! Says I am selfish! What does he know? He's just jealous, I know it!"

Desmond rose an eyebrow at that. Jealous of what, he would never know. _Congratulations, you used zero sarcasm in your latest snark! Well done!_

"Oh! And do you know what that _stronzo _old man said next!" Antonio declared, tone officially set to scandalized. "He said that Ugo deserved someone of a much higher standard than I! Well, let me tell you that, one, I do not swing that way and two, what higher standard can there be than that of a highly successful interior designer?"

Well, let Desmond tell you that, one, his mind was blown, fucking blown, when he realised that Antonio was straight. Mind. Was. Blown. Two, Desmond could think of five different jobs that held a higher standing than that of a interior designer. _Like mine for instance...fucking asshole!_

However, before Desmond could even begin to recite his input, the conveniently deaf and inconveniently tipsy fucker had thrown his arms out and carried on with his rant.

"And after I said as such to his face, the walking _cazzo _then suggested that Ugo would blossom beautifully under his care. His fucking care! As if Ugo would want to work under him anyway. _La Volpe_...pffft! More like _il pervertito_! Ugo would never do that to me...or would he? Desmond, Ugo wouldn't do that to me would he? No, it's nonsense. B-But what if he did! What if that decrepit old man seduced him away from me! Ugo does like his men older than he...along with his women too..._cazzo_! What should I do Desmond?" Antonio ranted and raved, his arms flinging about like a melodramatic squid on crack.

Desmond sighed and rubbed his temples. He dry swallowed another pill, hoping to OD before the night was over.

"Antonio, I believe that you—"

"_Si_?"

"—should finish sketching out my bar."

Antonio deflated slightly, before nodding in a very firm and determined way and continued sketching out the bar plans. That Desmond still wasn't allowed to glance at. Dick. Ignoring the mutterings of perverts and innocent pretty boys, Desmond drifted off into space.

So, Antonio did sort of swing that way. _Huh_, _since when did it become compulsory for all Italians to be gay? Fuck, that shit ain't going to go down well with the pope. _Desmond mused to himself, wondering why he never spotted this before and congratulated himself on taking the news so well.

_It's 'cause you never question things._

Ah, good ol' Mr. Conscience, always knew what to say and when to say it. Desmond most certainly _didn't_ question things and look where it got hi—_oh, yeah._ An obliterated bar, a dead-end job, a life as a singleton and, oh yeah, he was surrounded by nut-jobs every night who most likely had the ability to kill him with a corkscrew. Or their eyes. Which ever fucking way was quickest.

_Maybe I should start questioning things..._

X-x-X-x-X

Standing across the street opposite his bar was Desmond. A very chilly Desmond. He watched, burying his face into his leather jacket as Antonio set his workers -_fucking thieves_- into work. He had ten workers, all dressed in the same grey/green clothes with Antonio's curly name written on the back. Except Rosa. She wasn't wearing the uniform. In fact, she refused to wear any uniform that had someone's name on the back because she refused to feed their ego by advertising said name.

Desmond liked Rosa, they had a lot in common.

"Now, now Rosa. Don't be a show off. Stop twirling the lamp around like a lasso. No, Rosa. Leave Ugo alone. Oh, now see what you've done. Desmond, call a medic please! Rosa has asphyxiated Ugo and not in the sexy sort of way either~!"

Desmond twitched. He was pretty sure that everyone on the street had heard that. Oh look, he just received an evil glare from a granny, two doors down. Yeah. Everyone heard that.

Thanks Antonio for isolating Desmond even more on his street. Flipping out his phone, he tapped in 9-1-1 and awaited Meggie to pick up. It was always Meggie to pick up, because it just saved time to have him on a line that was separated from the rest of America. If Desmond hadn't felt isolated before, he sure did now.

"_9-1-1, what's your emergency?_"

"Hey Meg, Rosa is choking Ugo again and Antonio is freaking out. Well, I'm sure he is freaking out, but he's hiding it very well."

"_Ah, Italians destroyed your bar again and Italians are fixing it up._"

"Got that right Meggie."

"_Anyway, an ambulance has been dispatched and_—"

Meggie was interrupted however, as a loud shriek of joy emitted from Antonio's mouth. "He's alive! Oh Ugo! I am so glad to see you alive, the colour in your cheeks, your wheezing breath against my heart! Oh it warms me so...now go pick up that table and carry it in for me, okay sweetheart? Lovely."

Desmond twitched. "Meggie?"

"_I heard. Ambulance has been canceled. Good day Desmond._"

"You too Meg."

Tucking his phone away, Desmond eyed Ugo as he hacked and wheezed his way into the bar with a large table in his hands. _And Antonio is supposed to favour the guy? Damn, what a douche._

So focused on watching Ugo struggle his way into placing furniture into the bar, Desmond didn't notice when a black-haired panther sneaked up behind him.

"Gotcha!" Rosa crowed, pouncing on top of him, with her eyes narrowed and her grin stretched. Also, Desmond would like to point out now, that no he didn't shriek like a girl as that was Antonio's job. Not his. Thank you.

"How lovely to see you too Rosa," Desmond said, once his pulse returned to normal and the chances of a heart attack decreased considerably.

"Ah, ah, ahhh...Antonio would have your balls if he saw you salivating over poor Ugo like that!" Rosa scolded, hands on hips but with an impish smile on her face. Desmond smirked and crossed his arms as he regarded the young lady.

"As if Antonio ever notices anything else besides his latest sketch, or the nearest mirror," Desmond retorted, shaking his head with a smile as Rosa cackled and slapped his shoulder with mirth.

"So true! You have to feel a little for Ugo though, no?" Rosa said, cocking her head to the side with a sad smile.

"Why? Thought he and Antonio sorted everything out? Bar the whole La Volpe shit, of course."

"Ah yes, but you see that _stronzo _boss of ours has a crush so obvious that even the little old lady who glared at you would have been able to spot it. And she's _old_! So, Ugo decides to confront the boss and unfortunately for him, gets laughed at so much that even _my _heart died a little on the inside. The boss seems so deep in denial, he is drowning in it and is losing the one person who could ever consider reciprocating his feelings," Rosa revealed, so wise in tone and words. God, even Desmond felt that little bit smarter in her presence.

"So Ugo is going with La Volpe then?" Desmond asked, eyebrow raised as his eyes raked the form of Ugo's heaving body. Poor darling.

"_Si_, but who wouldn't when getting strung along like that? I wouldn't. So I say, 'good for you Ugo and punch the old _cazzo _out cold before you go!'" Rosa declared brightly.

Desmond nodded. That sounded like very good advise. He would probably end up repeating it to Ugo later, when the guy would inevitably show up at the bar to pour his life and soul out into a vodka shot. Numerous vodka shots.

_Should probably buy some vodka on the way home..._Desmond mused, ignoring Rosa as she tugged on his hair. "Pay attention to me so I don't have to work," Rosa hissed, fed up with Antonio's bossy attitude.

Desmond smirked. "Ah, but you see that's my bar he's working on, and you're the only one I can trust to actually get it right. So no," Desmond remarked, hoping she would take the hint and go away. Wrinkling her nose, Rosa turned to get back to work, only to jump a little when she came face-to-face with Antonio.

He glared at Desmond. _Why is everyone glaring at me today? What the fuck?_

"I shall make you eat those words, _stronzo_! I can be trusted to make your bar perfect and I shall! You'll see," he sneered, turning on heel to snap at more lagging workers. "Rosa! Come on!"

Rolling her eyes, Rosa clicked her tongue and began to stalk off. "You know the bar will be perfect. He might be an _idiota_, but he's a clever one," she called back, folding her arms and winking at him playfully.

"His idea of perfect greatly differs from mine," Desmond called. "If his idea of 'perfect' resembles my idea of 'fucking disaster', I will kill him!"

Rosa snorted. "No you won't!"

X-x-X-x-X

He _was _going to kill him. He was going to kill him, then resurrect him, only to feel the pleasure of murdering him once more.

_That fucking bitch!_

The bar had transformed into a fucking disaster. The floors were white laminate with sparkly things in it. The walls were smooth and white with a red strip running across the top. The tables were white wood with red marble surfaces. The chairs were white with red, velvet cushions. Picture frames and mirror frames were all red. The doors to the toilet were red. The toilet lids were red. The bar was red. Everything else was fucking white.

Jesus Christ! _This is going to be a bitch to clean every night_! Desmond felt a impending headache coming on and strode over to the bar. The red bar. The red bar made out of fucking glass. Glass! Around bloody Italians! It will never last. Searching around under the bar for the precious _fucking white _tablets of his, Desmond felt a sinking realisation hit him like a brick.

_Oh! Great, just fucking great. Motherfucking peachy!_

He had ran out of headache tablets.

_

* * *

_

**So the whole of Italia is gay now. Yus.**

**...I apologize now to any straight Italians reading this, as this is, in no way meant to relate to how actual Italians...uh...act. ^_^**

**Yah, Antonio/Ugo/La Volpe triangle FTW! I probably put A LOT of people off now. But what can I say, this is how I roll.**

**^_^ Thank you to: **_grawrgrawrninja, Gone Rampant, Keys2theKingdom, TheNinjaVampire, Masked Hatter, Liebchen-chan, loki-chan, Anon _**and **_Yumi00_**!**

**Perty please review!**

**Love City Girl**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**


	4. Adam And Eve

**I was going to bring Altair in, in all of his bad-assery gloriousness. But he didn't want to. Neither did Malik. Or Leo. Or anyone else for that matter.**

**Plus I'm ill...like can't even breath properly ill. I had two rounds of cheese on toast earlier and I think they made it worse.**

**Meh.**

**So, so glad that people like this story. ^_^ Seriously, I didn't think that it would get this many reviews. I never really do with any of my stories. Still, hope this chapter pleases you.**

**ENJOY!**

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Chapter 4 - Adam And Eve

**Adam: **_according to Christianity, he was the first male human to be created._

**And: **_used to connect grammatically coordinate words, phrases, or clauses._

**Eve: **_according to Christianity, she was the first female human to be created._**  
**

**Adam And Eve: **_Lucy's choice of drink. Desmond likes to think himself as the Adam to her Eve, the Romeo to her Juliet, the Antony to her Cleopatra, blah, blah, blah..._

_

* * *

_

Having white floors was proving to be more of an issue than Desmond originally thought.

Not only were they white, the only colour in the world to actually _create _headaches_ -next to yellow of course_-, but it also happened to be the worst colour in the world when it came to cleaning. Now Desmond wasn't the most OCD person in the world, but in all honesty, when it came to cleaning he became...rather domesticated.

Domesticated, of course, means the whole deal. Marigolds, aprons, squirty-bottles that radiated the strong smell of bleach. Naturally though, Desmond did have dignity, therefore he left his marigolds and his aprons and his squirty-bottles at home and settled for the five hundred year old mop and a bucket of soapy, hot water. Now, unfortunately for him, using such tools meant waiting for ages for the floor to dry.

Then there was the risk of testing whether or not the floor was actually dry. Antonio, the spiteful little fuck, was actually, genuinely going to single-handedly kill him. His old flooring dried quickly and easily. This new laminate, plastic crap took ages and left fucking _rivers _of water everywhere! Plus, his old flooring absorbed the water, therein leaving Desmond to not having to worry about drying any excess water. Antonio's horrific design meant any excess water had to be cleaned up. Manually. Cleaning up floors like that and without marigolds, left to pruny fingers. The most unattractive feature to have, when you're a bartender.

In short, Desmond hated his floors and he hated cleaning them without his marigolds. Yet, he persevered like a good little soldier, despite the risk of slipping over and gaining a grievous injury. And pruny fingers. Yuck.

"Ah! FUCK!"

Like now, for instance. Minus the pruny fingers though.

Desmond, for the past hour, had been cleaning up in time for his customers to arrive. After, throwing his mop and bucket into the ladies toilets -_no one goes in there..._-, he had started towards the bar and had missed the big ass puddle that lay innocently in the middle of the room. Big mistake that was. To cut a long description short, one leg went one way, the other leg went a different way and both his hands went flying up to grasp at the nearby tables.

For the sake of imagery, just imagine him doing the splits and holding two tables by the edges for the hell of it. 'Cause that's exactly what he was doing here.

His groin burned from tensing up from fear and his legs ached from the pain. A white-hot heat seared up his spine and made his eyes water, but he didn't cry. 'Cause, you know, he's a manly man. Manly men do not cry. They just bitch-slap people and bite them.

_Rawr_.

I digress. Desmond gritted his teeth and gripped the two tables harder. The lower part of his body began to tingle and numb up as he tried drastically to set his body right. Unfortunately for him, the floor was still wet and so his _Converse All-Star__s_ slipped all over the place, leading to more spikes of pain running up tense muscles. His hands began to slip on the tables, yet he was way too scared over letting go of them.

Instead, he stayed in that position, feeling immensely stupid and sorry for himself. The feeling merely grew tenfold when a familiar tinkling laugh floated into the air. _Oh no...please. Not now. Any time but now. Please?_

Unfortunately, it seemed as though someone up there found great entertainment in tormenting Desmond and presented him with the lovely vision of Lucy Stillman, peering down at him with mirth in her eyes.

Obviously, Desmond must have done some pretty bad crap in his past life for someone to be pissing on his parade _this _much.

Lucy peered down at him. "What are you doing?" she asked, her tone mixed with concern and amusement.

Desmond chuckled weakly. "Just thought it was the perfect time to practise some spontaneous gymnastics."

Lucy smiled softly. "Can you get up?"

"Uhh...I would if I could. I just...can't seem to...feel my groin at the moment. Plus I think my pants have split."

"Really?" Lucy asked, very interested in his situation now. Desmond scoffed.

"No. But it'd be even shittier if they had, don't you think?" he muttered, struggling to move without causing more pain to himself.

"Not really," Lucy teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" Desmond remarked, giving up in his hopeless struggle and resorting to holding his arms out like a child, waiting for Lucy to help him up.

Laughing out loud now, she rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. _Yeah, because helping me up is that difficult_. Lifting him up effortlessly, Lucy pulled him into a standing position, eyeing his groin as Desmond rubbed it with a wince.

"Fuck, you really know how to steal a man's masculinity. You weight-lift or something," he said, his tone barely disguising how pained he was. Lucy smirked mysteriously, her eyebrow quirked.

"Or something."

Ah yes. Another reason to adore the ground Lucy walked on. She was nothing like his other customers. Lucy never poured her heart and soul out to him, never insulted the way he mixed drinks and never, she has never, ever destroyed his bar. Never. That right there earns her infinity plus brownie points!

"Ah, obviously. Why hadn't I thought of that?" he asked, snarky voice on top form.

"I thought you weren't going to be sarcastic anymore," Lucy mused, her eyebrow quirked up.

"I thought you weren't going to laugh at me anymore," Desmond retorted. Lucy laughed and shook her head.

"I wasn't laughing at you. I was merely expressing my amusement at finding you in such an awkward position," she explained wisely.

Desmond snorted. "You were laughing at me. Don't use pretty words to dress up the obvious."

Lucy shook her head and hugged him warmly. Feeling the pain in his groin disappear to God-knows-where, Desmond automatically wrapped his arms around the slender body in front of him. _God...lemons_. Lucy smelt all citrus-like and lemon-y. It was a refreshing, beautiful smell and one that Desmond welcomed readily.

"You are planning on getting your ass into gear, right? 'Cause I am really thirsty," she remarked in the silence, completely destroying what Desmond had thought to be a beautiful moment.

"Same as before, right?" he asked.

"Duh."

Ah, Lucy. She was a student at the local university, studying cognitive neuroscience. Which meant fuck all to Desmond. Lucy had tried to explain it several times, but all Desmond could get out of it was that she studying memories and minds and the brain and—_ god_, she was so smart. Smart and pretty, which isn't all that rare a combination as one might think. After all, Desmond was pretty and smart.

_Yeah_.

Lucy was also the one customer who would rather listen to his woes, than have him listen to hers. Another brownie point! Or maybe that was minus a brownie point. She hardly ever spoke to him about herself, unless it was about her work. Never anything _too _personal...maybe Lucy didn't trust him, or was a secret ninja out to kill him with eyes and corkscrews or maybe she was a extreme feminist who wanted to rid the world of male influence, or what if—

"Desmond, my drink?"

Releasing her instantly, Desmond rubbed the back of his head sheepishly and smiled. "Ah, yeah. Go ahead and sit down."

Beating down the flush that threatened to take over his face, Desmond ducked down behind the bar to pull out bottles of brandy, gin and forbidden fruit liqueur, -_whatever-the-fuck _that_ was supposed to be_- and started on making her drink.

"So what happened here?" she asked, her eyes flickering around the new bar with a sort of appreciation. Desmond barely disguised the snort that automatically came out after she questioned him.

"The usual. Federico thought he could insult Vieri's mother, Vieri thought he could punch Federico and Ezio went all 'protective-brother' on his ass. Completely destroyed the bar, the bastards. Oh, and then, fucking Antonio decided to 'upgrade' my bar from 'deadly boring' to 'drop dead gorgeous'," Desmond scoffed. "I wish he would fucking drop dead."

Lucy smiled. "Then who would fix up your bar?"

"La Volpe, that's who. He may hate my guts, but if it means taking me away from Antonio's services, he'll happily suffer through a few days worth of my presence."

Lucy laughed and shook her head in disbelief. "If you truly hated those guys, you would have barred them ages ago."

"Ah, but then who would I have for customers?" he asked, innocently.

"Me," Lucy responded, in a so-totally-flirty way.

Desmond grinned and slid her drink towards her. That didn't seem like such a bad idea...in all actuality, it was one of Desmond's fantasies when it came to Lucy. Just him, her and a bar table. _And those are bad thoughts! Bad thoughts! Get out of my head! You do not need these thoughts provoking a much unneeded reaction in front of Lucy! Bad thoughts!_

Whilst Desmond was having a mental breakdown over his hormonal-driven body, Lucy had begun talking to him, seemingly not noticing his despair.

"—especially after what you did. Desmond. Desmond? Desmond are you listening to me?"

Snapping his head up so fast, it made Lucy wince, Desmond responded with an oh-so-smart reply of: "Huh?"

Lucy sighed. "What did I just say?"

_Mind-blank...mind-blank...mind-blank...FUCK!_

"Uhhh...something smart?" he ventured a guess, seeing as every other thing Lucy said was either smart of funny.

She giggled and shook her head. "I was saying that it's most likely to happen, me being your only customer. Especially if you carry on treating them like you do. I saw Shaun's face Desmond."

_Crap._

"It was an accident?"

Lucy sighed. "Are you asking me, or telling me?"

"I don't know. Which one will make you less angry with me?"

Lucy didn't answer, only laughed once more and sipped her drink. Oh yeah, he was off the hook—

"Shaun likes you, you know."

—never mind.

"He has a fucked up way of showing it," Desmond grumbled. Not that he was sulking. God forbid Desmond being allowed to sulk! Lucy meanwhile took his disgruntlement as some form of entertainment, and her laugh brought Desmond out of his non-sulking-sulk and made him smile.

_I made her laugh four times. Four times...that's gotta be some kind of record!_

"Ah, that's just his default mode. He really does like you," Lucy insisted. She was very protective of her friends and Desmond felt that _little _bit more guilty when he remembered slapping Shaun. _You should also remember the way he provoked you and taunted you afterwords._

_Ah yes...British dickhead. _

Sighing, Desmond shifted uncomfortably and glanced out of a window to avoid Lucy's questioning stare. "Can we talk about something else?"

Lucy hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side, before granting Desmond's wish. "Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

Desmond grinned. "Anything about you." Which really was a bit vague, but Lucy was too, so that made it alright. Plus, Lucy never talked about her hobbies, her family or even if she had pets. All she talked about was Rebecca -_lunatic_-, Shaun -_self-explanatory_- and sometimes her boss, Warren Vidic -_creepy pervert who stares at my ass_- who Desmond had never liked at all, ever since they first met.

And it wasn't just because Vidic had stared at his ass either. It was the fact that he found Desmond absolutely fascinating, but not in a flattering way. It was the same sort of fascinating that one would associate with an experiment or a project. Either way it was not good. It was horrible and creepy and the guy stared at his ass for God's sake! What decent human being does that?

_Ah, you do. Remember? You stared at your ex's ass five times before you were jumped and you've stared at Lucy's ass three times. What, you think she'll jump you too? Idiot._

Damn. His conscience was being a real bitch nowadays. Jesus. _Not a messiah darling, just your conscience._

Desmond scowled and blocked out his conscience, by listening solely on Lucy and her voice, as she described her latest experiment.

"—oh and then we opened up his head. We had him under anesthetic obviously, and there are no pain receptors in the brain, so it wasn't hurting him. You can stop looking so horrified now. Errmm, where was I? Oh! So we were finding out which parts of the brain reacted to memory, when Vidic found that—"

Half the stuff that she said went straight over his head, but Desmond didn't mind. Lucy was talking and Lucy had a beautiful voice to talk with.

As she finished describing her day, they fell into a comfortable silence. Neither talked, only basked in the rare silence and enjoyed the each others company. It stretched until Lucy had finished her drink and slid it back to him.

"So...you going to tell me what's going on with this place? It's totally different to how it used to be."_  
_

"I know. It's fucking awful, right?" he asked, wrinkling his nose at the modern interior. Everything looked so cold, so clean, so..._eurghh_. Totally _not _him!

Lucy smiled sweetly. "Actually, I rather like it."

Desmond blinked.

"Yeah, I guess it ain't that bad. I mean it could be worse, I might not have a bar at all, but I guess from a certain angle it really doesn't look all that bad. It actually looks sorta cool," Desmond ranted in one breath. Which is rather admirable, you must admit.

Lucy smirked. "Desmond, no one says 'cool' anymore," she stated, quirking a brow and curled a lock of hair around her finger delicately. Desmond didn't say anything; he just flushed and accepted the fact that maybe, just maybe, he needed to get out more.

Sighing and running a hand through his hair, Desmond decided it would be best to stroke his injured ego later. Right now, he had felt his stomach drop a little, like he had swallowed a stone or something, and an air of bad feeling swept through him. Glancing up at the clock, he saw that it was reaching six o' clock. You could almost hear the theme music from _Jaws _in the thick atmosphere and it made Desmond's palms sweat.

_Oh no...oh fuck no!  
_

**BANG!**

Fuck! That fucking damn door has done nothing in life! In fact, it has just _started _life and already it was being abused. Fucking hell!_  
_

Before Desmond could hiss out his disapproval, the Italian God himself chipped in with the first word. "_Salute _Desmond!"

_Die! You bar-ruining, door-abusing, Leo-stalking man-slut!_ Desmond would have said this out loud too, if it weren't for that fact that Ezio most probably had the ability to kill him with just a finger.

"Here!" Ezio said brightly, shoving a beautiful bouquet of flowers into Desmond's face. The bouquet consisted of red roses, yellow alstroemeria lilies, white daisies and blue thistles. Well, that's what the tag on the bow said. _And oh look, he spent $5 on me...aren't I special..._

Quirking an eyebrow, Desmond regarded the flowers fearfully. "Ezio...I'm a boy."

_Well no-freaking-duh! And you're a man, not a boy! Jesus Desmond, try to TRY to look good in front of Lucy!  
_

Ezio nodded wisely, and continued to smile that damn infuriating, yet slightly sexy smile of his. "Of course, I know that. I hope. Ah, these are not because I want you. I already mentioned as to why not," he muttered. Of course Desmond knew. _The guy isn't bi-sexual. He's Leo-sexual._

"Yeah, yeah...I know. So why the flowers then?" Desmond asked, inching away from the bouquet as if they were poison ivy. Knowing Ezio like he did, he wouldn't put it past the guy to slip in a few leaves.

"Ah, these are to say _mi scusi_, for destroying the bar like I did. Federico did buy you some chocolate, but he decided to put them to better use," Ezio's nose wrinkled with disgust as he muttered out the last part. Desmond, in his opinion felt that he didn't really want to—

"What did he use them for?" Lucy asked.

"Vieri's body," Ezio spat.

—know. Blanching something awful, Desmond resisted the urge to gag and choked slightly as he tried not to throw up. Ezio hummed as he watched him, as if he knew how Desmond felt. Which he did. Times ten...'cause he is Federico's brother and knowing that his darling _fratello _was participating in such a disgusting act with _Vieri _of all people, and willingly too, made him wish to empty out his stomach as well.

"So, _signore_, these are for you. Specially bought from the shop next door. I asked the old lady what the perfect bouquet was for apologizing and she said that these were," Ezio said with flourish, thrusting the flowers under Desmond's nose once more. "They are called _Eden_, beautiful no?"

Lucy smiled as Desmond resisted the urge to grab the flowers and shove them up a specific part of Ezio's body where the sun would never deign to shine.

"Of course, they're no where near as beautiful as you, _signora_," Ezio purred, edging towards the blonde woman.

Ezio placed the flowers on the bar and pulled out a rose, presenting it to Lucy with a smile. "_Bella_, a rose for you," he said, charming grin on full force and his eyes full of naughty thoughts. Naughty bastard.

_Dick, you have Christina and Caterina and Rosa when she feels up to it! You, for the love of fucking God, you cannot have Lucy as well. Fuck off and go back to pining over Leo! Dick._

Desmond, as you can see, was not amused by this development. Lucy on the other hand, was torn between bursting into peals of laughter and kneeing Ezio in the groin. Gingerly taking the rose off him, Lucy nodded her thanks and smiled.

Then she kneed him in the groin.

A warm fuzzy feeling flooded Desmond as he watched the sexy Italian bastard keel over in agony. Heh...stupid fucker. Lucy didn't do romance, she didn't have time for it. Desmond didn't know why he kept getting attracted to the unromantic type, and so far it hadn't ended well for him.

However, Lucy had a motorbike and obviously that changed everything.

"Ah, _signora_, feisty girls are my specialty," Ezio piped up in a strangled voice. Lucy merely shrugged and gave him a patronizing pat on the head.

"Poor darling...maybe now you've learnt your lesson to leave girls like me alone?" she asked, quirking a brow. Goddammit, she was perfect! Ezio glanced up with a smirk and a shrug, but before he could answer -_probably with another sleazy, slimy chat-up line_- his phone rang. Again.

**~If you want my booody, annnnd you think I'm seeeeeexy; come on sugar, let me knoooow!~**

Desmond's eye twitched. Lucy blinked. Ezio shrugged.

"_Che cosa?_"

* * *

**I'm ill and dying and I feel like my tonsils have been ripped out and my head has been bashed in with a porcelain basin.**

**Still...omnomnomDesmond. Om.**

**Thank you to all who have reviewed:**_ Yumi00, grawrgrawrninja, Valitiel, Laughing Bandit D Royale, Gone Rampant, i love all yaoi, loki-chan, Masked Hatter, Uruk, Evilness, Peace of pie_ **and** _YoraRaids_.

**Perty please review!**

**Love City Girl**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x**


	5. Southern Comfort And Lime

**I feel as if I'm losing touch with my snarky!Desmond, and I have no idea how to get him back! Buh!  
**

**ANYWAY, thank you for the loverly reviews! ^_^ They made me feel loved, which is something that Valentine's Day did not do!**

**Yah, for the seventeenth year in a row, I was single on VDay. I'm seventeen years old. Does not bode well. Meh...  
**

**I was going to break from tradition and do a 'Happy Singleton's Day!' fic, instead of the many VDay fics that everyone else does, but I honestly don't have time. Which is awful.**

**Maybe next year then.**

**ANYWAY, onto the show.**

**ENJOY!**

**

* * *

**

Southern Comfort And Lime

**Southern Comfort: **_a fruit, spice and whiskey flavored liqueur made from neutral spirits._

**And:** _used to connect grammatically coordinate words, phrases, or clauses._

**Lime: **_the egg-shaped fruit of a plant, having a green rind and acid juice used as flavoring._

**Southern Comfort And Lime: **_Rebecca loves this drink, 'cause it always gives her that extra drunken edge when she goes snowboarding. Shaun bets $50 that she breaks her leg one day._**  
**

* * *

The caller, as it so happened to be, was Leo. From what Desmond had gathered, Leonardo was stuck at some art university where he had been volunteering as a naked model. Of course, as soon as the words 'naked' and 'Leo' sunk into Ezio's mind, he was out of the bar faster than you could say 'naked Leo'.

Lucy could only laugh in amusement as an Italian blur swept past her and out of the abused door. Desmond's eye could only twitch. _Stupid sex-obsessed Italians, I hope Lucy made you infertile, you bastard._

"Hey Desmond, you okay? You look like you're about to kill something," Lucy said, slightly concerned from how dark Desmond's face was becoming.

_Not something, someone. An Italian 'someone'. An Italian someone that is so getting their ass barred from my_—_oh, Lucy's talking! _"What?" Desmond asked, snapping out of his murderous trance instantly.

Lucy shook her head and sighed. "Nothing, it's just...you looked really pissed then."

Desmond shrugged it off. "Ahh, just Ezio. He has that effect on people, you know?"

Lucy just smirked. "Oh, I know. I just thought that maybe you were jealous because you didn't have a naked sweetheart to run off to," she said slyly, her eyes fluttering slightly.

_Jealous? Of Ezio? What? Leo's not even his sweetheart! I am so not jealous and_—_oh...Lucy's talking._

"I'm sorry, did you just insinuate that I, Desmond Miles, was jealous of Ezio 'Dickhead' Auditore? I am beyond insulted Lucy. Beyond insulted! No more free drinks for you," he stated, with a playful angry tone to his words. Flirty flirt.

Lucy merely rolled her eyes. "No need to get so defensive, dear. It was merely a suggestion." Flirty, flirty, flirt.

Naturally, Desmond had a dorky spasm over the fact that Lucy referred to him as 'dear'. Naturally, due to this fact, he completely overlooked the fact that his poor door has once more just been slammed open.

**BANG!**

_She called me 'dear'. Like...'dear'! Jesus Christ, this has to mean something! We have not flirted for ten whole months for nothing. This is your chance man, ask her out now!_

See. Completely oblivious.

"Hey, Luce...I was wondering if you would like to—" Desmond started, but like all things natural in this bar, he didn't get to finish.

"LUCY! Long time no see! Has it really been seven hours?" Rebecca Crane cried, almost as dramatic as Antonio with her arm waving. Almost.

Lucy winced and turned around to properly greet and hug her friend. "Yeah, totally felt longer than that though."

_Bitch! I may never get that chance back again! How dare she just waltz in here like she owns the place and_—_oh my god. She splintered my door. She splintered my fucking door. What. The. Fuck!  
_

As you can see, Desmond did not feel the same loving sentiments towards Rebecca as Lucy did. Justifiable though, right?

"Hey kiddo, haven't seen you in a while either!" Rebecca said, her eyes sparkling like a mad thing on acid.

"Not a kid," Desmond grumbled under his breath and crossed his arms sulkily.

Rebecca always came in the same way, decked out in a silver jumpsuit that she practically lived in. It suited her very nicely, so Desmond never really said anything about it. Well, that and she had a killer right hook. Of course, that didn't stop his inner-snark from jumping up to say 'hi' every now and then. Plus, he was understandably pissed over being interrupted, so...

"Your hat looks like a rainbow threw up on it," he stated calmly.

"Excellent!" Rebecca crowed and gave him a thumbs up. Apparently wearing woolen hats that looked as if little children had coloured them in were all the rage now. _Holy fuck, they are ugly._

Rebecca was a skiing instructor, though God only knows why she decided that living _here _of all places was better than living in _La Chapelle d'Abondance_. The silver jumpsuit she wore, was reminiscent of the outfit she would ski in. Apparently it was the type of outfit that one could wear in any weather.

_In Becca's world perhaps. She's just too fucking lazy to buy new clothes. _Desmond rubbed his temples. _Then again, when was the last time you bought something new, eh?_

Before a fully-fledged argument could form in Desmond's mind, Rebecca quite rudely interrupted his train of thought.

"Hit me up kiddo, you know what I want!" she cried, jumping onto a stool next to Lucy. Desmond frowned at the nickname and huffed slightly. _Not a kid._

However, Desmond acquiesced her request and set about making a Southern Comfort and Lime. It was a simple enough drink to make, but it did become highly frustrating when the person drinking it, would immediately want another after downing the one before. Rebecca was an infamous downer of drinks, yet she wasn't an alcoholic. She liked to think of herself as a social drinker.

_Social drinker my ass! _Desmond wrinkled his nose and slid her drink down the table towards her. She smoothly caught it in one hand as her eyes danced about the new interior. "Nice look Des! Much better than the last one. Looked like an old man's house!" she said, excitedly. _Bitch. I like the old man look. AND IT SO DID NOT LOOK LIKE AN OLD MAN'S HOUSE!_

"Talking to yourself Des? That's cool...just don't answer yourself okay, that's when it gets pretty weird. And I would know...spent five months in a asylum once, 'cause I answered my own question. The asylum didn't do much damage though, I mean, I escaped before any real damage could set in, but whatever!"

_Desmond, you just served an alcoholic beverage to an asylum-escapist who believes that talking to yourself is cool and used that as an example to relate herself to you. Dear god, where is that emergency phone!_

Rebecca lost interest in Desmond's internal panic as soon as her eyes landed on the bouquet of flowers on the bar. She gasped excitedly. "Woah! Never knew Shaun would confess so soon! Dude, I never knew he had the balls to do so!"

Desmond blinked and quirked a brow. "Never had the balls to do what? Confess what?"

Rebecca's head snapped back up from looking at the flowers and she smiled innocently. "What?"

"What?" Desmond, in all honesty, had never felt so confused in all his life. What the hell she was on about, he would never know. Not that he would want to know, after all, this is Rebecca we are talking about.

Instead, he just narrowed his eyes, suspicious of how Lucy not-so-subtly kicked Rebecca in the shin. Yet, he didn't ask. He merely accepted, like always.

"Owww! What the hell Luce, why would you—oh. Right." And with that, the conversation died. Lucy shook her head as a slightly awkward silence filled the room and she stood up.

"Well, it's time for me to head back before Vidic tries to experiment on anymore people without me, see you later guys," she said, waving to them both and winking at Desmond before taking her leave.

Unfortunately, Desmond didn't really take notice of her. Rather he just took notice of, in his opinion, the most important parts of her speech. _Vidic...experiment on...ME! I knew it! That bastard! That slimy, slightly perverted bastard! Ew, I feel so violated now! _

"Dude! Drink, me, now! Do you see the correlation between those three words?" Rebecca cried, snapping Desmond out of his thoughts. Instead of giving her another drink though, Desmond ended up focusing on something else in the room...or rather, something that had just left the room.

"Where's Lucy?" he demanded, feeling slightly panicked at the prospect of being left alone with Rebecca.

"Gone. Now give me my drink!" she whined. Desmond's eye just twitched.

"Lucy left. She went. Just like that?"

As you can see, Desmond is clearly having some psychological issues with this situation. Rebecca really couldn't care less.

_Oh god, I'm alone with Rebecca. Fuck, I'm alone with Rebecca. Dear god...I am alone with_—"Woah! Quit the staring dude. Geeze, if looks could kill I'd be a goner, eh?"

Desmond forced a smile onto his face. _I fucking wish._ He slid the drink down her way, knowing that if he didn't, she would inevitably climb across the bar and start drinking straight from the beer tap, to get her alcoholic fix.

_Fucking alcoholics who weren't really alcoholics. No sense of decorum whatsoever._ "Had a bad day then, eh Becca?" he started, conversationally.

"Hah! Please...I spent all day trying to get a bunch of cowardly custards to sled down a dry slope! A dry slope that was no bigger than this bar, for Christ's sake!" she grumbled, downing her shot, and snapping her fingers for another. _Bitch, my bar is not that small!_

"You poor, sad child. I have no idea what life must be like for you," Desmond drawled, his features perfectly dead-panned. Naturally, Rebecca didn't notice.

"Totally. My day has been nothing but shit. My morning was the worst! I had a fight with my alarm clock. It wanted me to wake up, but I disagreed. Then things got violent. Now my alarm clock is broken and I was left wide awake. Not sure who won that one," Rebecca responded, her face screwed up in concentration as she tried to work out what had actually happened.

Desmond's eye just twitched. It really was at times like this, when he wished he had taken that shotgun he had been offered when he bought this bar.

"Soooo, Desmond. I have a question for you," Rebecca drawled, as she downed her drink in one and motioned for another. Desmond's eyes twitched, but didn't refuse her. You do not want to say 'no' to a drunken Becca...it may very well be the last thing you do.

Just ask her last boyfriend...if you can find him, that is.

I digress. Becca had a question. "I'm afraid to find out, but go on," Desmond said, sliding down the fifth drink Rebecca would be consuming that night.

"Kay, right. So, let's say there's this guy. He's pretty cute, probably an eight on the scale of cuteness, but that's just my opinion. Anyway, this cute guy happens to like another cute guy. He's like, a thirteen, on the cuteness scale. Not my opinion, of course, but whatever," Rebecca rambled, as she downed her drink again. Desmond had already beaten her to it and had already prepared her next five drinks.

"Thanks kiddo! Anyway, so cute guy eight really, really likes cute guy thirteen. When they first meet, everything is like, amazing! They're flirting and bantering and having fun. Eight instantly falls for thirteen. Then...BAM! Eight gives thirteen the cold shoulder for no reason, like whatsoever in thirteen's opinion! They're no longer bantering, but properly arguing with each other. Eight's reason for being so cold is that thirteen has hurt him. Thirteen just doesn't know it yet and eight doesn't know whether to tell him or not. Should he?" Rebecca demanded, whilst Desmond secretly admired the way she held herself up, despite getting increasingly drunk.

"Well, what possible reason could eight have to spontaneously give thirteen the cold shoulder, besides the fact that thirteen had somehow hurt eight without knowing about it?" Desmond asked, feeling a faint headache coming on. This was like, what, the ninety-ninth time it's happened this week? Cannot be good.

_It's not like you're dying..._

Desmond scoffed as he watched Rebecca down her seventh drink. _Pffft. I wish._

Rebecca blinked at the question for a second and flipped out her iPhone. _Where are all these people getting their money from? Jesus!_ Whilst Desmond bitterly complained about how poor and shitty his life was -_I can't even afford a fucking pet_-, Rebecca quickly tapped out a quick text to her friend. **Y R U giving him the cold shoulder again? xxx**

Her reply came exactly five seconds later: **'Cause he's a flirty wanker! xoxox**

Rebecca 'ahh-ed' and tucked her phone away. "Apparently thirteen can't keep it in his pants and eight feels hurt by this."

Desmond nodded, before doing a double-take. "Wha-wait, these are real people? Are we talking about real people Becca?" he demanded hotly.

"Ummm...noooooo," Rebecca drawled, the effects of her drinks finally taking place.

Bitch. Now Desmond was fucking curious! Damn his lovable, curious nature, but damn he really wanted to know who these people were!

"Tell me! Please?" he said, fluttering his beautiful lashes, but only to have Rebecca spurting her drink in his face due to laughter.

"Duuuude, sho no' workin'! I ain't tellin' you, I have been shworn under oath, capiche?" she slurred, eyes wide and cloudy. Desmond sighed, knowing that he would have to get the pool table ready again.

After all, there are some drunks you really don't want to let out on the streets. Rebecca is a prime example of these types of drunks, so when she crossed the line of no return, Desmond would let her sleep on the pool table overnight, knowing that she would probably still be there the next day.

So Desmond took out the pillows and the blankets and the secret teddy-bear that no one knew about -_oh Paddy, you got through some tough times_- and began to prepare the pool table for Rebecca. As he cleared the balls from the table, a pair of hands grasped his shoulders and swung him around.

_Holy fuck!_

"Desmond! Boxers or briefs?" Rebecca demanded, as if the question itself was a matter of life or death. Naturally, Desmond didn't have time to answer.

Why?

Well, naturally, the bar started to vibrate and rumble. Naturally. Then, all natural-like, someone came flying through the roof, leaving a nice man-shaped hole in the ceiling. Of course, the someone who fell through the roof, then naturally landed onto a bar stool and glared at Desmond like he hadn't just flown through the air and fallen through the roof of his favourite bar.

Desmond, of course, didn't question these things and accepted them.

Naturally.

* * *

**'Cause you don't really need any hint as to who just fell through PURE CONCRETE now do you?**

**Besides, if someone THAT Badass was going to make their appearance, you might as well bring them in with a literal BANG, right?**

**So yeah, expect some loverly love/hate loving to be going next time! ^_^**

**Thanks to: **_Tunazap, Evilness, grawrgrawrninja, Peace of pie, YoraRaids, Valitiel Jackyll, loki-chan, Masked Hatter, Trip3x, anime411, Yumi00, Uruk_ **and **_Kudomeya_**!**

**I adored all your reviews and they made me feel so much better! ^_^**

**Love City Girl**

**x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x  
**


	6. Moonshine

**Sorry for the delayed update. I've just been so busy these past few weeks!**

**Ah, yes. So, some of you thought it was Desmond's ex making his entrance...but to be honest, I believe his entrance would be much more than a big bang. A nuclear boom would describe his entrance into this story better...**

**So yeah. Keep reading and you'll see why later! ^_^**

**ENJOY!  
**

* * *

Chapter 6 - Moonshine

**Moonshine: **_Illegally distilled whiskey._

**Moonshine: **_Pffft! As if Altair cares whether or not it's illegal. __Just don't tell Malik._

* * *

Desmond's eye twitched as the guy sat on the stool snapped his fingers. Obviously he wanted his drink.

Desmond's eye twitched once more as a loud thud sounded behind him. Obviously Rebecca has just fallen unconscious.

"You going to fix the roof this time?" he asked lightly. Altair just glared. _I'll take that as a 'no' then. _

"Will you help me lift Becca onto the table then," he asked, again very lightly. Altair was a ticking bomb of destruction, as proven by the gaping hole in his roof. _Reminds me of my ex..._

In response to the question, Altair lifted Rebecca up, fireman-style, and threw her onto the pool-table. Desmond flinched at the sound, but Rebecca merely yawned and shifted slightly, squeezing Paddy close to her chest.

_Hmmmm...lucky bastard. _Feeling ever-so-slightly silly for feeling ever-so-slightly jealous of a teddy-bear, Desmond returned to his place at the bar and beamed at Altair.

"Had a good day?" he asked cheerily.

Altair growled. _I'll take that as a 'no'...again._

"Anything interesting happen?"

Again, he growled.

Desmond felt like he was wilting flower under the glare that Altair was giving him.

"You just want your fucking drink, don't you?" he asked, monotonously. Altair smirked and cracked his knuckles.

Desmond flinched.

Altair Ibn-La'Ahad was a pretty scary mother-fucker. With gold eyes. Desmond had a theory that he was like, God of the underworld crime-ring or something. Desmond never actually found out what the fuck Altair actually did, but he suspected that it was illegal and had something to do with the mafia. If you've ever met Altair, then you'll know that it isn't as far-fetched as it sounds. The drink he gets sorta proves it. Despite it being illegal, Altair always ordered moonshine and god-help Desmond if he ever ran out of it.

Desmond just waits for the day when the police turn up looking for someone who wasn't Italian, Arab or English. Then Desmond will know that he's going down for being a fucking bootlegger.

"One illegal drink, coming right up," he sighed and ducked down to open up the cellar door, leading to his most prized and secret liquors. Right in the front of his collection sat five whole barrels of Altair's moonshine. Desmond bet that at least four and half barrels would disappear by the end of the night.

_And then some...stupid, egoistic alcoholics. _

Lifting up a couple of barrels, Desmond heaved them up to the bar. Altair's eyes grew wide and shining as he spied the beautiful liquor that will get him beautifully drunk. Desmond set the barrels down and set to work at opening them. He began struggling to open the lid of one and, naturally, Altair grew impatient. A flick-knife appeared out of fucking nowhere from Altair's hand and smoothly slid open the lid. Desmond froze as the blade came _this fucking close _to his fingers and inched away from the barrel.

Altair hummed in appreciation and leaned over the bar further to lift up the barrel. He then retracted the flick-knife and pulled out a straw instead. Desmond just watched with horrified, wide eyes as the Arab drank the entire barrel using nothing more than a straw and his amazing, awesome, mother-fuckerness.

"Ummm...bad day, I take it?" Desmond asked, eye twitching as Altair motioned for his second barrel.

Pausing before he downed his second barrel, Altair glanced up for a moment. "Malik."

That one name granted Desmond to the lovely land of clarity, where all things were clear and easy to understand. "Ah."

Malik A-Sayf was Altair's ex-boyfriend (though Altair would vehemently deny that they were exes, yet) and he was a walking ticking cherry-bomb. Although, to be honest, the guy does have a logical reason as to why he was pissed off all the time. _Probably has something to do with the dickhead boyfriend who drunk-drove his brother and he home, then crashing the car. Now look at Malik, no left arm, no brother and no car either. Jesus, I would have shot that fucker dead if he had done it to me._

Glancing up at Altair's angry glare, Desmond mentally back-tracked. _Ahaha...unless that fucker had the ability to kill me with a single glare, that is._

"So, how'd you fuck it up with Malik this time?" Let it be known that Desmond was gifted in tact and subtlety.

"I didn't," Altair growled, his golden eyes flashing.

Desmond nodded quickly. Flashy gold eyes meant that someone was very close to dying soon. Desmond appreciated the fact that he had life and would rather it not end so soon.

"So...ummm. What did happen with Malik then?"

Altair didn't say anything. He just held up his phone and sighed. As if Desmond was being a difficult child and wasn't worthy of Altair's time. _I'm probably not. Asshole. _Squinting a little, Desmond peered into the screen and saw a video playing. It showed the interior of an office, with a old-like-practically-ancient-old man at his desk and old-but-not-as-old-as-the-antique-sitting-at-his-desk-old guy lying on a sofa bed. _Funny, this looks like a therapist's office...oh. Oh fuck no. He didn't._

Desmond glanced up. Altair smirked.

_Fuck. He did._

It was a therapist session, and the guy lying on the sofa was none other than Altair's ex-but-not-really boyfriend. Fucking hell. If Malik ever caught wind of what Altair has done, he would actually rip his dick off and shove it so far up his ass, he'd be chewing on his spunk for the rest of his life.

Beautiful image, I know. It's also scarily accurate as to what Malik would most likely do. He's done it before.

I digress, Desmond shook off the disturbing feeling he was getting and returned to watch the screen. Altair held the volume button and sound crackled out of the tiny speakers.

_'So Malik, today we are going to try something different. This is part of a technique called 'free-association', would you like to try it out?'_

_'I am not a small child to be talked down to! If you believe this will help me -and I highly doubt it will- then by all means, begin.'_

_'Ah. Ah...well, this activity is rather basic. I will say a word, any word, and I want you to say the first thing that comes to mind.'_

_'Why?'_

_'Because there are some things that your subconscious will reveal through this task and maybe this will aide you in recovering from whatever it is that is preventing you from functioning normally.'_

_'Fine.'_

_'Ah...good. So, the first word is: book.'_

_'Throw.'_

_'...'_

_'What?'_

_'N-nothing, nothing at all. Next word: charm.'_

_'Dishonest.'_

_'Pen.'_

_'Stab.'_

_'Colour.'_

_'Blind.'_

_'Small.'_

_'Protect.'  
_

_'Heart.'_

_'...break.'_

Altair flinched. Desmond didn't ask.

_'Laugh.'_

_'Cry._

_'Punch.'_

_'Hard.'  
_

_'Christmas.'_

_'Easter.'_

There was a pause, and Desmond could distinctly hear the scratching of pen as the therapist wrote a few words down.

_'Red.'_

_'Feather.'_

_'Brother.'_

_'...'_

_'Brother? Malik?'_

_'Bastard!'_

There was a sound of something breaking and smashing against a wall. Altair's hand was frighteningly still as the sounds of someone storming out of the room and the slamming of a door indicated the end of the recording.

Now Desmond wasn't stupid, contrary to popular belief, but even he knew that Malik's last words weren't directed at the therapist, but rather someone else.

Damn.

"Holy...um, fuck. Well, that was...errm. Fuck. I have no idea what to say." _That's some messed up shit, and I seriously believe that you need to leave this bar immediately, you fucking creepy pervert. _Desmond felt the heat of Altair's glare on him and ceased his train of thinking straight away. _Fucking pervert probably reads minds...shit! Ah, not that you're a pervert, of course, if you are reading my mind, and if you're not then I'm talking to myself and should probably go join Rebecca in the lunatic's circle._

Altair just grimaced at the creepy grin on Desmond's face and sighed as he tucked away the phone. Desmond swallowed hard and shuffled his feet.

"So...another drink then?" he asked, cheerily. Altair just nodded, glaring at the barrel in front of him. Jesus, he was almost as fucking bad as Ezio when it came to scaring drinks.

"How did you record the session anyway? I mean, don't therapists check their rooms for bugs and shit?" Desmond asked as he pushed another barrel towards Altair.

"Obviously my therapist is a novice and doesn't know what his job entails. Just like another bastard I know!" a voice spat, making both Altair and Desmond wince from the malice that practically dripped from the words. _Okay, now I'm going to slowly edge my way over to the circle of lunatics, before Malik eats me..._

Altair quickly chucked the three barrels of moonshine behind the bar, hiding them from Malik. Desmond was torn between inching his way towards Rebecca and inching towards his many bottles of headache tablets. _I feel like a teenage junkie who just sits around saying 'fuck my life'. Wait..._

"So, you feel like privacy is beneath you as well then? I should be surprised, yet, surprisingly, I'm not."

"That isn't surprising. I always invade your privacy. Just last week I injected a micro-chip into your dic—" Altair began with raised eyebrows. Naturally, Malik didn't let him finish because a) Malik is a prude and b) Altair is just being an irritating little twat-head who needs to deflate his head a little, otherwise he'll never be able to leave via the front door. _And that is not a good scenario to contemplate. _

I digress. Malik threw a coaster at Altair's head, sharply cutting off whatever it was the Altair was going to say. "Your arrogance astounds me, how you continue to humiliate me further when you know what I've already been through, is astonishing. You're nothing, but a cruel, cold-hearted..no. You don't have a heart, you're just a pathetic, empty shell who—"

"Dictionary! I was going to say dictionary!" Altair cried out. Let it be known that Altair never reacts well when it comes to being guilt-tripped. Malik smirked.

"Naturally," he said smiling. He then threw another coaster at Altair's head. "How stupid do you think I am? You irritable, nasty little leech!"

Desmond felt a headache come on and tried to feel for his bottles of headache pills under the counter. Then he remembered that he had run out.

Life was a bitch. It really was.

"Hey, that's uncalled for! And I need to spy on you, you never let me know how you are otherwise!" Altair snapped back, trying to get the message across, the message being that he does care. In his own little, fucked up way, he cares.

"Do you seriously wonder why? Idiot, there's a reason why I don't tell you anything about my life and I!" Malik hissed back. Obviously he's been taking the same kitty-cat lessons that Vieri has been taking. Meow.

"Tell me! Tell me the reason!" Altair spat.

"Oh, you don't know? Why don't you ask my arm...oh wait. You can't! It's not there!" Malik mocked him, his eyes blazing with fury. Desmond inched that little bit more away from the bar and the two feisty Arabs. Someone was going to get hurt and will end up in tears, and that person was _not_ going to be Desmond. Again.

"That's low Malik, even for you," Altair growled, getting more riled up with each word that Malik hissed at him. Meow.

"Oh trust me, I have a long way to go before I ever reach your level of 'low' Altair!"

Altair paused momentarily. In these types of situations, this argument can go in two different directions. The long, hurtful route that will end with Malik in almost-tears, Altair in angry-tears and Desmond in oh-my-god-the-pain-it-hurts-tears. Or it could go the childish route, with Malik pissed off, Altair pissed off and Desmond...well, he can't really get pissed off with them. They'll probably try to kill him. With their eyes or what-the-fuck-else they have on them.

"My level of 'low' died alongside your brother!" Altair said in a deep, sexy voice that would have anyone swooning. Malik is not the swoony-type.

"Don't you dare speak of my brother like that! You have no fucking right to even think his name!" Malik hissed.

Altair narrowed his eyes. "Funny, you sang a different tune when it was my girlfriend you murdered."

Malik sputtered and his face grew hot and red. "First off, she is not dead. She's moved back to her home country to live with her parents. She sends a fucking postcard every fucking week. Second off, I was drunk, she was drunk. We were both upset due to how cold and cruel you were with our feelings. By the way, thanks for cheating on me. I feel pretty fucking special. Third off, I _suggested _that she move back to her parents because she was a hell of a lot happier with them than she was with you! I did not kill her! I'm not you!"

Altair blinked. Well. That was a fucking surprise. Who knew that Adha was still alive. "Well...I was drunk too!"

Malik exploded. To be fair, it was rather understandable. "You also drove the car that killed my brother and cost me an arm! You're the murderer!"

"That's a bit harsh...it was an accident."

"An accident you can't take back, you idiot!"

Obviously, this was going to go down the hurtful route that left everyone in tears. Desmond began to reach for the tissue box. _Fucking bastards. Manly men don't fucking cry!_

"You're a dick!"

"At least I have a dick!"

"Yeah, on your head!"

Then again, it could do a 180 turn into the opposite direction where everyone turns into little children.

"That's uncalled for!"

"Your face is uncalled for!"

Altair, clearly very miffed that his not-exactly-ex-boyfriend implied that he was ugly, then leaped from his seat and tackled Malik to the ground. Malik, despite lacking a limb, fought back with impressive fervor.

"I hate you!"

"Yeah, well I hated you first!"

"You weren't saying that last night!"

"I wasn't with you last night!"

"I was in your dreams though. 'Oh Altair...fuck...Altair, please. I love you Altair, don't leave me, I—'"

"SHUT UP! Stop spying on me sleeping you perverted freak!"

"Oh, not denying then? How sweet, I was only bluffing."

Malik then proceeded to murder Altair using the leg from a stool. _How fucking dare he rip apart my fucking bar! As if that douche-bag Italian wasn't bad enough. Jesus-fucking-Christ. I give up. I am surrounded by idiots, and thus I give up. _Malik and Altair then threw twin glares at him. Desmond wilted a little and gave them both nervous grins.

_Unless they're mind-reading idiots. In which case they aren't idiots. Like, at all. They're super awesome and therefore should be treated with the utmost respect, lest they stab someone with a cork-screw._ They nodded at him and returned to killing each other.

Desmond wilted a little bit more. They were going to kill each other and his bar was going to be a crime scene. Again.

Feeling his eyes sting a little -_men don't fucking cry_- Desmond swallowed hard and desperately eyed his teddy, wrapped up in Rebecca's arms.

_Paddy. Please help me._

* * *

**Manly men don't cry. They just get their teddy-bears to fend off the evil men who make them cry.**

**ANYWAY! Thank you very muchly for the reviews. They make me smile! ^_^**

**Thank you to: **_TheParanoidNerd, grawrgrawrninja, Peace of pie, Kudomeya, Valitiel, Masked Hatter, LittleLamperouge, Xazz, loki-chan, LunarIsOfficallyInsane, KaiiDee23, Evilness, La Belle Demoiselle, ardx, Rio Voltaire, RolfeDOL, -Sapphire00Moonlight-, Heartstones, __Koulin_**and **_Anon_**!**

**Much love for you all!**

**Love City Girl  
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